


That Boy's Got Woe

by LustDemonRosier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Mildly Dubious Consent, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:29:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustDemonRosier/pseuds/LustDemonRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on Sam and Dean's reunion at the beginning of Season 1. Will feature some flashbacks detailing their relationship as teenagers leading up to a romantic/sexual encounter that causes Sam to freak out and do the only reasonable thing - hitchhike to get away from his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not yet beta'd. This will be the first chapter of three dealing with the events of early season 1. This chapter is short and sadly lacking in smut. I was just very eager to keep my regular posting on a roll. I promise it will build to something more *ahem* exciting. The title comes from a Say Anything song called "Woe". No, it's not a songfic, I just liked the appropriateness of the lyrics.

Of course Dean couldn't just knock. Or call. It was always a display of his superior skills, some morbid need to exhibit his control over a situation, even one as simple as dropping in on his brother.

Even if he hadn't spoken to said brother in two years. Even if the last time they saw each other it ended with Dean getting a door slammed in his face. But he had that coming.

Now he had Sam pinned on his own kitchen floor in the place he scraped out for himself away from the sick world no child, hell, no person of any age, should be subjected to. Dean even had the audacity to mock him for being out of practice, but Sam was bigger now and not so easily influenced by his brother's cajoling. The places where Dean's body held his own down were burning with rage – and something he thought he buried a long time ago – radiating through his body. It was so much like every time they fought as kids but Dean always won back then due to his advantage in size and experience and the fact that Dean wasn't still adjusting to a body was all awkward too-long limbs. This time Sam flipped his brother with ease and savored the victory.

But somehow the older Winchester son got his way in the end regardless and Sam was reluctantly riding shotgun in the Impala, heading out to their father's last known whereabouts. This was the thing he feared the most, not his father disappearing – that was inevitable – but being dragged back to everything he worked so hard to be away from. He didn't have anything to say to Dean, despite his brother's feeble attempts at making small talk, even refusing to take the bait when his brother goaded him about Jess' attractiveness. He knew where that conversation would lead them so he just sighed dramatically and leaned his head against the cool passenger window.

“All right,” Dean grunted, “I get it. You don't want to talk. First time for everything, right?” Sam glared at him, but his brother just shrugged his shoulders, cracked his neck and threw his right arm over the back of the seat. Dean must have sensed Sam glowering at his dirty chipped fingernails, too close to Sam's hunched shoulder for comfort, because he gave the younger Winchester a questioning look. Sam answered by shooting daggers at Dean until the offending arm shriveled back to its own personal space. “Get your beauty sleep then, princess,” he grumbled. “At least one of us will be well-rested for the hunt. Even if you are out of practice.”

He shut his eyes, letting the chill glass cool his temper, and ignored Dean's obsessive attempts to get a rise out of him. Having his eyes closed to the sight of his brother didn't necessarily put him out of his mind though, no matter how hard he forced the memories down. Too gentle squeezes when they fought, a lingering kiss on his cheek before Sam even knew what his dad got up to when he left town for days on end, Dean pressing into his back when they used to share motel beds. He forced his eyes open and felt his jaw clench hard as he sat upright in the seat. He wanted to hit Dean so bad, just sucker punch him right in his stupid perfect stubbly jaw. He probably would if Dean wasn't driving, he told himself. His brother was venturing another glance at him, softer this time, Sam could sense it in his peripheral vision.

“How much farther?” he grumbled, willing himself not to look at his brother.

Everything happened fast after that, falling right into perfect place, like Sam had not been off the job for two years. Every chance he had he tried to derail the whole idiotic charade. If he had to be there he could at least make it abundantly clear that he didn't belong there, not anymore, not now that he had a choice. So he stomped on his brother's foot, bickered with him over the credit card scams, perhaps pushed things too far bringing up Mom. When he did that, there was a hurt in Dean's eyes that he was ashamed to feel proud about. He was acting like a petulant child and it dawned on him about twelve hours too late that it was exactly how he always acted on hunts. As far as Sam could tell his disagreeable behavior was probably only encouraging his brother so he changed his game plan. Something about the way his stomach dropped the instant before he saw his brother crawl out of the muddy stream below made him a little more pliable. For a moment, Dean was lost to him, his big brother and the only person he could ever rely on, and Sam's last act was to be a dick to him. He hated the way his heart leaped when he saw Dean was okay aside from being a little waterlogged and smelling like sewage. At least, if he played along, this would go faster and he could get back to his mostly normal life. He even let Dean throw his arm around his shoulders while they interviewed the latest victim's girlfriend even if it made his spine buzz with uncomfortable interest.

Of course it had to be a woman in white. Dean would have been better cut out for dealing with the spirit than Sam. His brother might have been thirty-one flavors of sexually deviant but you can't be unfaithful if you've never been in a committed relationship. Aside from a very messed up series of sexual encounters as a teenager that society would actually consider abuse rather than a bona fide commitment. Except it was a commitment, even though it wasn't ever verbally labeled as such. Getting locked down with the spirit in the Impala was doing nothing to keep Sam's memories from bubbling up his throat like a bad case of acid reflux.

“I'm not unfaithful!” he declared but he wasn't fooling himself or the damn woman in white and even if he wouldn't open himself up to her very forceful come-on, she knew he was lying. Faithfulness was a mindset and spirits could see through a little play-acting. He kept honing in on Jess in his mind, but the idea was slippery as a wet fish because all he could think was “Hurry up, Dean” and all the times he had said that before. Dean running a hand over his skinny chest under his t-shirt, Dean fumbling with his fly in the dark, Dean pulling up his jeans as Dad turned the key in the lock to their motel. Hurry up, Dean. Constance's rotten visage was peering at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. Even a woman who drowned her own kids thought he was fucked up. Jess, Jess, Jess, he repeated in his head like a mantra as the monster sunk her fingers into his chest. His was probably the most satisfying soul she ever punished in her long run of vengeance. Then the driver's side window exploded and there was Dean so for a split second he could stop pretending, for whose benefit he wasn't sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam deals with the memory of a turning point in his relationship with his brother. Being angry and trying to deny Dean's importance in his life is only making Sam frustrated and putting him off his game so he redefines the love he has for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not yet beta'd. Angsty. I will make up for that in the next chapter with some much needed smut.

He was so fucked in the head.

Jess was dead. Burned alive right before his eyes, killed in the exact same way his mother was murdered, twenty-two years to the date after her death. If he had just been honest with her maybe he could have saved her. Or if he had refused Dean and his stupid wild goose chase for their father. The real kicker was that instead of collecting the shattered pieces of the beautiful apple pie life he carefully built, he threw it right out the window, let it burn with the rest. His past, which he so meticulously hid away, caught up to him and it killed her the instant he let it back into his life. This was not what Jess would have wanted for him. It was what his brother wanted. Somehow Dean and his father and the existence they forced on him trumped what he made for himself. It was absurd and it was disgusting and it was completely mental.

He didn't know what else to do so he let Dean show him like he was a hapless ten year old again.  


“Hunting things, saving people.” Like that somehow made it worth it, to lose Mom and Jess and probably Dad, so people he didn't know from Adam could go on thinking ghost stories were just stories. Then there were other thoughts that keeled to a darker end of the human psyche, darker even than contemplating the value of your continued existence. It would not have been so hard if it was just thoughts, but there were memories too, subtle suggestions from otherwise innocent touches. When the wendigo captured Dean, Sam was so overwhelmed by the thought of losing him he forgot all pretenses about acceptable ways to touch one's brother. He cut him down from the crumbling ceiling of the desolate mineshaft so totally focused on his goal that he didn't consider the state his brother would be in after being dragged through the forest by a supernaturally powerful beast. Dean collapsed into his arms, his head lolling forward helplessly onto Sam's shoulder and for just a moment Sam's lips brushed against his brother's filthy sweat-soaked neck. Even exhausted, maybe minutes from his death, Sam felt Dean's breath hitch and Sam's chest ached so hard it felt like it was going to collapse in on itself.

Maybe Dean didn't notice, but Sam thought that was unlikely because Dean noticed everything, especially when it came to Sam. It was just his style of mercy not to make an issue of it. At least Sam knew that he wasn't the only one coping with the aftermath of foolish things done between the sheets as desperate teenagers. Dean just chose not to bring it up and his younger brother knew that was for his benefit, not Dean's. Facing things headlong was Dean's style but throwing that topic in Sam's face would only have served to scare the younger man off, which was funny when Sam thought about it because Dean didn't initiate whatever happened between them. Even though he was younger, or perhaps because of it, Sam was always the one to get the ball rolling. The younger would push, the older would resist but inevitably give in.

Pinpointing the exact moment their relationship changed was easy and it was almost entirely Sam's fault. He was twelve, Dean sixteen. They were at their third new school in as many months and the older Winchester was working his charm on the fourth girl in as many days when Sam hatched the plan that turned their lives upside down. Up to that point, things were changing between the brothers in subtle, unsettling ways. Sleeping in the same bed stopped abruptly after Sam woke up wrapped in his brother's long arms with his morning wood prodding at his lower back. After that Dean opted for the couch if one was available or pretended to be so enraptured by research that he passed out in lumpy motel armchairs. Never an early riser, Dean was suddenly waking at sunrise to get a shower while Sam still dozed in bed. When Sam took his turn in the shower, Dean found a reason to slip out of their motel room until he could be certain that Sam would be fully clothed when he returned. He even started riding shotgun in the Impala instead of goofing around in the backseat with Sam. He was growing more distant, acting more like their father than himself, and Sam was achingly aware that the only dependable thing in his life was slipping out of his grasp. The plan was executed under the guise of a prank but really Sammy just wanted his brother back.

“Give this to Casey,” Dean said, pressing a folded piece of notebook paper into Sam's hand. “You know, the brunette with the good legs.” Of course Sam knew who Casey was, though he had taken to calling her Number 4 in his head. Dean had been flirting with her all morning. “And don't you dare read it.” But Dean knew Sam would read it, that was the whole point of getting Sam to be his little messenger the last couple days. Dean told him it was because he couldn't risk the previous girls seeing him passing notes with the newest exploit, but really it was about flaunting his interest in girls, about establishing a parameter in his relationship with his baby brother. If nothing else were in the equation Sam still would have loathed being treated like he was ignorant. The first time Dean did it, Sam was irritated but by the third time it happened it took all of Sam's willpower not to just slug his brother for being such a jerk. Being used as his brother's unwilling wingman while simultaneously losing his rank as the most important thing in Dean's life made Sam mad enough to do something incredibly stupid.

The gambit was almost too easy to pull off. As soon as Dean walked away Sam unfolded the note and read its contents:

Casey  
Meet me in the janators closet by room 202 after lunch.  
-D

Sam scowled at the misspelling of “janitor” and the conspicuous lack of an apostrophe. Then he crumpled it up and threw it in a waste bin before he set to forging a reply. Their father taught them all about the merits of disguising their handwriting but Sam kept his talent for mimicking girly script a secret for obvious reasons. He even signed the reply “C” with a flourish of little hearts and flowers. Dean would absolutely fall for that. When the bell rang indicating it was time to change classes about an hour later, Dean practically pounced on Sam. His enthusiasm made it easy for Sam to glower authentically at him as he shoved the counterfeit note into his brother's waiting hand.

Sam dipped out of their lunch period early. Evading Dean's notice was fairly easy since they didn't sit together at lunch anymore and his brother was busy making eyes at an oblivious Casey a couple tables over. Glancing around the empty hall to make sure no one noticed, Sam slipped into the janitor's closet for a little pre-revenge preparation. Putting his hunting skills to use, he analyzed the tiny space. He had to flip a bucket over and stand atop it to unscrew the light bulb and stow in on a nearby shelf. Then he shoved the bucket aside and huddled in the corner. Without a window in the door and the only other source of light now removed it was completely dark save for the little line filtering between the bottom of the door and the floor. Sam settled into his place in the corner and waited. His eyes slowly adapted to the almost pitch black space, hazy outlines taking shape in shades of deep gray. He hoped no one would stumble upon him while he waited to enact his vengeful plot. Even if they did, he was tucked in the space that would be right behind the open door. It would be impossible to see him unless they came around the door and looked right at him. And they would never hear him. He had learned a long time ago how to be perfectly silent. Even if he was caught he could easily pull the hiding from bullies line. Sam smirked to himself. Sure, their life was pretty screwed up but he could not deny that the skills it afforded him weren't highly useful, especially when he got to use them to teach his brother a lesson.

Sammy wasn't positive what he was going to do when Dean walked into his trap but he was fairly sure that punching him his annoying, grinning mouth wouldn't be justice enough. But then the door opened and it was time to make a decision.

“Casey?” Dean whispered in a feather soft voice once he shut the door. “You in here?”

Sam stepped forward. He had to make his move before Dean's eyes had a chance to adjust to the almost non-existent light. Without thinking, he grabbed the front of his brother's plaid button-down shirt and yanked him forward, pulling him almost flush against his body, still not sure if he wanted to smack him or slam his face into one of the shelves while he was caught off guard. A broken nose was sounding like pretty good retribution when Dean tilted his head and started kissing him. Shit, Sam thought, but it felt good so he opened his mouth and let his brother in, grinning inwardly because this felt like decent retribution too. He was never going to let Dean live this one down. He reached his hands up and folded them around Dean's neck, letting his brother deepen the kiss and suddenly Sammy wasn't all that concerned with getting even anymore. Then Dean had his hands on his hips and he faltered for a moment, finding Sam's bony frame instead of the soft curves of a girl that he expected, but his brother's head was evidently somewhere else because he just kept kissing him. In a couple of steps, Dean had Sam pressed against the wall and was rubbing his hands up and down Sam's waist, thumbs occasionally swirling in lazy circles as their tongues mirrored the movement. Sammy had not had a lot of real kisses but this was definitely the best one so far. No wonder girls liked his brother so much. Dean was pressing into him harder now, his erection brushing Sam's thigh once, even though his brother was being careful not to go that far that fast since it might scare his quarry away, and it occurred to Sam that he was hard too. The realization made him gasp; he had gotten his brother hard. Dean was making him hard. And it wasn't the first time, he thought, remembering the feeling of Dean's dick pressing into his back that one morning, remembering how the sensation had made his stomach drop and flutter. It wasn't ever intentional, it was just the way they were, and God, it was so hot he could almost forget how wrong it was. Dean's hands were crawling up his scrawny rib cage and a dim warning was going off in the back of Sam's head because Dean was going to be on to him if his hands continued the slow ascent. Yet Sam didn't have the will to stop it, didn't even know how, because he let this go way too far and it felt way too good. Pulling with his hands on Dean's neck he brought his brother closer for just a couple more seconds and then Dean's hands reached the place he expected to find breasts. Pause. Tentative squeeze. Backward stagger.

Sam could just barely see Dean grope around for the string to pull the light on, his hands waving around before getting a hold of it and wrenching it like a life line. It clicked and nothing happened since the light bulb was about three feet away on the shelf. He pulled again and again, a series of panicked clicks before giving up.

“What the hell?” he demanded in a whisper-shout, his fists balled in front of him, poised to swing.

“Dean,” the younger boy started but he had no idea where to go from there. Mostly he wanted to run out of the closet and disappear.

“Sammy?” replied Dean with a horror he didn't even use when talking about the worst monsters.

The bell rang. For a moment they stood there staring at each other in the darkness. Then Dean practically ripped the door off its hinges and stormed out, slamming it shut behind him. Sam slumped against the wall. He must have stood there dazed for a while, tears streaming silently down his face, because the bell rang again, indicating students should be back in class. Then he stood there a little longer. Eventually he moved, though he was doing it without thinking, like the way he helped Dean and his father clean up when they returned from a hunt, all disjointed and based entirely on memory rather than conscious decision making. He was rolling the light bulb from hand to hand. He needed to do something with the light bulb. Put it back where it belonged. Instead he just glared at it before hucking it down at the floor. The sound of the breaking glass brought him back to his senses enough to know he needed to get out of there. He ran down the hall way, out of the building and all the way back to their motel, tears running down his face the whole time.

Sam always started it. Dean always resisted. Then something would happen to break Dean's resolve and Sam's persistence would win out. Even as an adult, Sam wasn't sure if he should blame himself for being so insistent or if he should blame Dean for always giving in.

“What the hell was that about, Sammy?” Dean barked when he entered their motel room a few hours later. For some reason Dean stuck out the entire day of school which was unusual for an average day, let alone one where he had made out with his kid brother in a janitor's closet.

“Stop using me to pick up chicks!” Sam shouted back. He was facing away from Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, his face still wet with tears.

“What?” Dean was watching him in disbelief. “That's what that was about?”

“I was just trying to get you back,” snuffled the younger brother, wiping his nose on his shoulder and refusing to turn around to look at Dean. The older boy was quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what his brother said. Sam heard him pad softly across the worn carpet of the motel room until he was standing next to Sam's huddled form.

“Like a prank?” asked Dean incredulously. Sam stared at the floor and tried to shrink in on himself even more. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. “That has got to be the worst prank of all time, Sammy.” Dean sighed heavily but then he sat on the bed next to his curled up brother and put an arm around him.

“You're not mad?” Sam wondered, stealing a nervous glance at his brother. It was the first time in probably a month that Dean had been so close to him.

“I'm not mad,” admitted Dean grudgingly. “I think you're an idiot, but I'm not mad.” He squeezed Sam's shoulder and pulled him in for a hug.

“Gonna stop making me get all your dates for you?” Sam grumbled into Dean's warm neck.

“Well I guess I'm going to have to,” Dean laughed, “if you going to try to suck face with me out of spite every time I ask you to deliver a note.” Sam looked up and gave him a mildly devious smile, his face just an inch or two from Dean's. There was a flash of uncertainty in Dean's green eyes right then, like he wasn't sure what to do with Sam being that close but it passed so fast Sam could not even be sure if he imagined it. Then Dean was pulling him back in for another hug and messing up his shaggy hair.

Watching his brother over the burning remains of the wendigo, bloodied but mostly recovered from his capture, Sam couldn't help grinning like a kid again. Dean made it look so easy, sexy even. Maybe he shouldn't have left Stanford, allowing himself to get roped back into this life, but without Jess he wasn't sure there was any point to staying there. The only person he loved as much as Jess, maybe more, was on the other side of a pile of smoldering monster and he was giving him that look. The happy, content Dean Winchester look. Dean needed him right now and Sam needed him in return. Their lives were screwed all to hell but at least they had each other and it didn't need to be weird or uncomfortable between them because of things that happened years ago when they were desperate, terrified children. He wasn't going to let himself fall back into their old habits, but that didn't mean he loved Dean any less.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the Asylum episode. Sam tries to kill Dean and he feels pretty awful about it so he shows his brother how much he needs him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not yet beta'd. Final installment in how I imagine Dean and Sam's season 1 reunion would go.

Everything was going well. Too well in hindsight. A guy could only run into so many psychotic dead people before one of them found a way into your head and made you say something stupid. Or do something stupid. In this case, try to kill your brother. Leave it to an unhinged spirit of a psychiatrist to undo everything Sam worked so hard to establish. He loved his brother. It had nothing to do with the fact that they had sex a long time ago. He was done with that and he was determined that what happened in the past was not going to have a negative impact on the one meaningful relationship he still had.

He tried to kill Dean and right at that moment he meant it. Worse yet, Dean knew he meant it but he wouldn't talk about it. After shutting down Sam's attempts at righting what he said and did, they drove back to the motel in silence. They cleaned up in silence. They got into bed without another word. It was driving Sam crazy. Again. He was going to do something really stupid. Again. And this time he wouldn't even have the excuse of spiritual influence to blame.

“Dean,” he finally spoke. The younger brother was sitting up in his bed, looking at Dean who was lying on his side, facing away from Sam.

“We're not talking about it,” grumbled Dean.

“Yes,” Sam demanded, “we are.” Dean rolled over with exaggerated irritation and glared at him.

“Leave it alone.”

“No. Not this time.”

Dean looked like he was trying to swallow a dirty sock without chewing first. Then he sat up and turned toward his brother, legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

“I almost killed you,” Sam said, voice cracking. Knowing his brother wouldn't give it up until he said his fill, Dean settled in for the monologue, watching Sam with weary but expectant eyes. “I meant it.” A muscle in Dean's neck flinched and for a moment Sam thought he was going to tell him to shut up again. “But all I could feel was anger, you know? It just shut out every thing else. It wasn't me, it was just hate and rage. At everything. I wanted to burn the whole world down right then. You just happened to be the only target in sight.”

“Great,” his brother muttered, “so I'm not even especially infuriating to you.”

“No,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes, “you are infuriating. But you're my brother. I mean, you're pretty much the only thing I have left.”

“Good to know, Julia Roberts,” sighed the older Winchester. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“Dammit, Dean,” Sam shouted and he was on his feet, hands tightening into fists. Dean must have thought he was going to hit him, which he probably had coming with all his emotional constipation, not to mention the fact that he knocked Sam out cold earlier. “I've been trying so hard to make this work but we're just going in circles, nearly getting ourselves killed every other day on hunts and for what? We don't know anything about what killed Mom and Jess and we're no closer to finding Dad!”

“Sam.” His brother was using the calm down, Sammy voice but it wasn't working. Throwing his hands up in the air, the taller Winchester growled inarticulately, stomped forward a step and slumped, looking completely defeated before falling forward onto Dean's bed.

“You don't get it,” he mumbled into the bedspread, which smelled faintly of cheese. “If I lost you. God, if I hurt you.” He felt the bed shift as Dean leaned back to lay next to him. Where ever the younger man was going with that thought, it came to a screeching stop when he felt the heat of his brother so close to him.

“I know, Sammy,” Dean reassured him quietly. He rolled over to face Sam and the younger man shifted his head to look at him from under his too long bangs. Looking genuinely concerned, Dean brushed Sam's hair out of his face. “All we've got is us.”

Sam wanted to cry; instead he scooted closer to his brother and momentarily disregarded all his mental notes on appropriate physical contact between brothers. He stretched out a big hand to brush his brush his fingers over his brother's cheek. Being millimeters from breaking apart, there was a hunger in him for something physically comforting. Like always, his big brother knew exactly what he needed by just looking at him. Dean pulled Sam in close to him, awkwardly tucking the larger man's head against his chest which was still tender from being blasted with rock salt, and petting the wavy hair on the back of his head.

“We're okay, Sammy,” he murmured into the top of his baby brother's head. “I've got you.” Without giving himself a chance to rethink what he was doing, Sam brought his face level with Dean's and kissed him, soft at first but with rapidly growing neediness.

This was bad. He needed to stop. But Dean's lips were so welcoming and Sam needed it more than he needed it to stop. With his brother's rough hands on either side of his head, he felt so secure, letting Dean kiss away all his guilt and worry. Giving in just this once when he needed it so badly didn't seem like such a terrible thing. It felt good, right even, because nothing else mattered at that moment. One of Dean's hands was massaging his shoulder now, occasionally rubbing his arm which was so much bigger than the last time they did this. It was weird, Sam thought, now that he was the one with the obvious size advantage. It was like they were doing it for the first time. He pushed himself even closer to his brother, rocking his hips forward just a fraction of an inch and enjoying the feel of Dean's solid warmth against him.

“Sammy,” panted the older man, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. That was okay because Sam was sure enough for the both of them, he thought, shifting to get on top of his brother's smaller frame, his long legs on either side of Dean's. As far as he was concerned they had already gone too far to stop; he pressed his brother into the mattress to drive that point home.

“Want it, Dean,” he whispered into his brother's ear before slipping his tongue over the delicate cartilage and sucking on the lobe. Dean groaned his approval and lifted his hips to match Sam's movement.

“Missed you so bad,” Dean mumbled senselessly.

“Stop talking, Dean,” ordered the younger man, articulating each word with a kiss to his brother's throat. Then he sealed his mouth over Dean's, just for good measure. They weren't about to have a discussion about how they had both been wanting this since Dean broke into Sam's apartment and pinned him to the floor. This wasn't the time to confess that he still jerked off to memories of the first time Dean sucked him off. He definitely wasn't going to tell him that during all the best sex he had with Jess, or anyone else for that matter, he was thinking of his brother. He was too damn hard to think straight enough for talk.

They were moving together now, predicting each others' movements and reacting perfectly in sync, just like everything else they did. Dean was unzipping Sam's jeans and pulling him free of his boxers with one hand while the other worked his own dick free. They were either too urgent to bother getting properly undressed or still a little too ashamed to be completely naked in front of each other now that they were doing this again despite all their best efforts to avoid it. Dean was gripping both of them in his fist but Sam swatted his hand away and replaced it with his considerably larger paw. That made his brother shudder and Sam smiled to himself victoriously as he started stroking them. Neither of them were going to last long.

Their pace picked up, their bodies moving together in faultless time. It had been a long time and Sam was considerably stronger than before, confident now in his freakishly large form, but they still knew each others' bodies as well as they knew their own. The heady combination of pleasure and relief of finally giving in to the need for that pleasure they had refused for too long was pushing them both to the edge in a hurry, gasping and sweaty. They were both making noise, maybe even saying things but it was all completely unintelligible and indecipherable right then. Sam could feel the bed lurching back and forth as they thrust together into his hand and he was dimly concerned that the bed was going to give in under their frenzied movement but he was so close and he could tell Dean was too. Even if the crappy bed did collapse, he probably would have just kept grinding against his brother in the wreckage. If the Pope himself walked through their motel door, he couldn't have stopped. Dean's hands were squeezing his hips so hard it would have hurt if he could feel anything besides his cock right then. He tightened his grip on their cocks and thrust forward a little harder and that brought Dean to his peak. The sight of Dean coming in his hand, splashing onto his own t-shirt, and the sexy little noises his brother was making pushed Sam into his own orgasm and he was adding his seed to the mess on Dean's shirt. He held his massive body over Dean's for as long as he could before his arm threatened to give out and he rolled over onto the bed next to his brother. They were both silent and motionless, except for the rise and fall of their chests and the sound of their heavy breathing.

Sam wasn't sure who fell asleep first but he woke up with Dean nuzzling into his neck. His brother had discarded his sticky shirt at some point and was lying there bare chested and absolutely gorgeous, both of them still stretched sidewise across the bed where they ended up post-orgasm. Sam was too tired to think but he did have the consideration to push a pillow under Dean's head and pull the blankets over him before retreating to his own bed.

When he woke the second time, he spent a long time thinking but he wasn't making any sense of his jumble of feelings. Then the phone rang and really screwed his already handicapped brain.

Arguing with Dean was pretty much unavoidable after what they did but at least they could blame it on the phone call. Sam needed to find Dad. More importantly he needed to get away from Dean before things could go careening off in the direction they were pointed.


End file.
